Little Lapses
by accidentalauthoress
Summary: Of all of the times he's patched up Sammy, one thing bothers him more than anything else. Brotherly fluff, Sam whump, no wincest.


Over the years, Dean had seen Sam go through a lot of shit. He'd patched him up hundreds of times, helping him to get through everything from bumps and bruises to head injuries and open wounds. Through it all, Dean tried his best to be calm and level-headed, but sometimes his ever-present worry shone through. The trembling hands, the quiver in his voice, the watery depths of his green eyes. The one thing that Dean always found the worst, though, the one thing that always shook him to his core… Was something as simple as a lapse of consciousness.

The first time he ever saw it happen, he was sixteen and Sam was twelve. They were tossing a football around outside of Bobby's while he and their dad were away – as usual. Sam had been annoyed at Dean the entire day – the kid was puffed up proudly, pretending he was the man of the house. Trying to take the place of their dad, who he'd idolized since he was old enough to talk. Dean was none too thrilled to be babysitting Sam, either, although he was doing his best to keep them both alive and make his father proud.

In short, everything was as it should have been.

And then, in an instant, Dean's façade crumbled. He had thrown the ball too far, and Sam had gone running. Tall and lanky, he had made it a decent distance before the klutz in him kicked in and he tripped and fell to the ground. Dean's first reaction was to smile and yell "What the hell, Sammy?" in his general direction. When the littler brother didn't rise, however, Dean's smile faded in an instant. Before his mind could process what he was doing, he was racing towards Sam as fast as he could move.

His fallen sibling was lying face-down in the grass, his foot caught in a hole and his head lying against a rock. Dean could have sworn he felt his heart stop in his chest as he put his shaking hands on Sam and turned him over. The smaller boy's hair was covered with bright blood, and his skin was pale and lifeless. Dean brushed the hair back to find the free-flowing wound on Sam's forehead, where he had hit his head. The wound wasn't too deep, but Dean knew well how much head wounds bled. Acting quickly, he covered the wound with one hand as he placed his trembling fingers on Sammy's neck. The pulse was there, strong and steady, yet Dean's heart was in his throat and his stomach dropping. By all accounts, he shouldn't have been panicking. He knew what to do, and he knew it wasn't serious. But Sam being unresponsive was shaking him to his core.

Dean didn't even take time to try and wake the younger boy. He swept his lanky brother up into his and moved as quickly as he could back to Bobby's without hurting him. Once inside, he rushed around nonsensically for a moment before recomposing himself. Truth be told, he should have put Sam down on the couch before grabbing the water and stitching kit, but his mind was frazzled and didn't want to let his kid brother out of his arms, let alone his sight.

Even more surprising was what Dean was whispering as he rushed his brother around the house. Dean had never been one for religion, and he didn't particularly believe in God like Sam did. But when it came to his baby brother, he was willing to try anything to help.

"Please don't take him away from me, please keep him safe, please God let him be okay. I need him, God, I really do," Dean was repeating frantically, out of breath as he gathered the supplies he needed.

Once he had put Sam down and settled next to him, he went about cleaning and stitching the wound. Truth be told, it wasn't all that bad, but Dean was concerned about additional head injuries Sam may have sustained in the fall. When Sam didn't stir even to the pain, Dean's heart began to pound even faster. So, he sat down next to Sam and started combing his hands through Sam's fluffy hair to comfort both of them.

"Time to rehash this prayer thing," Dean murmured, squeezing his eyes shut and taking one of Sam's hands. "God, I know we don't exactly have the best relationship. But I really need a favor right now, and I need something to believe in to make it happen. This is my little brother, God, and he'll never know it but I love him and he means the world to me. I need him on this earth, so please don't take him. Please let him wake up. I'll do whatever it takes."

And there they sat, Dean watching and fussing over the injured Sam, for what seemed like hours. Then a moan of pain escaped Sam's lips, and Dean almost jumped out of his skin.

"Sammy? Open your eyes," Dean barely breathed. As if in response, Sam gave Dean's hand a gentle squeeze. Moments later, his eyelids began to flutter and his face creased in pain.

"Ow," Sam groaned. Dean's face broke into a massive, childish smile as he pulled his brother close.

"You alright?" Dean asked, relief washing over him. Sam nodded gently, and Dean finally let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.

That was the first time. Ever since then, lapses of consciousness were what scared Dean the most. Anything else, he could work with. But that pale, limp, vulnerable… nothingness terrified him like no other. Underneath it all, he was afraid that Sam wouldn't wake back up one time. Dean would have failed to protect him, and there would be nothing he could do to help.

The little lapses were the worst.


End file.
